


maybe we'll turn to gold

by madlife



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:49:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlife/pseuds/madlife
Summary: Mark sees Donghyuck as though he's in a film.(When film major Mark thought he's moving on from his little crush on his high school friend, Donghyuck reappears in his life and invites him to see a movie.)inspired by "hollywood" by the black skirts
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Comments: 24
Kudos: 226





	maybe we'll turn to gold

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by "hollywood" by the black skirts
> 
> unbeta-ed omg im sorry in advance

Mark, motionless behind the ticket counter, sees Donghyuck, as though he’s in a film.

Wide shot. Right side of the frame, Donghyuck’s distant figure stands static in the dimly lit movie theatre. On the left, pink, purple, cyan, and lime lights beam from backlit movie posters on the wall and bounce on the floor like a mirage. Then Donghyuck ambles forward, approaching Mark, in slow motion. Diegetic sounds overlap each other: ambient murmurs of a movie theatre lobby pall, and Mark’s pulse pounds and builds up in sync with each of Donghyuck’s step.

This is the second time Mark sees Donghyuck in person since his high school graduation, which was two years ago. He feels like yelling _scene one, take two!_

Scene one, take one was just last fall, months earlier, where Mark got himself confused for a sec: was he just out of focus during a dull day at work, or this guy, peering up at that week’s showtime on the monitor above Mark, face shadowed by a cap, was Lee Donghyuck for real. But then the guy looked down, and then their eyes met.

“What the—” Donghyuck said, covering his slightly parted lips with a fist. “Mark Lee? Mark hyung?”

Mark blurted out, “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

It was Donghyuck who laughed first, silent and light, and then Mark. He couldn’t look at Donghyuck straight in the eyes after that.

Mark cleared his throat. “Uhm, what’s up?” he said to the computer on the countertop, to the quartz countertop itself, to Donghyuck’s sweatshirt, to Donghyuck’s mole on his neck. He peeked behind Donghyuck. “You alone?”

Donghyuck nodded. He lifted his cap to brush his hair—dyed brown—twice. The color suited him.

“Nobody’s free to watch with me, so,” Donghyuck muttered, putting his cap back on.

“You hate being alone, though. While seeing a movie, I mean.”

“Do you want to accompany me, hyung?”

“Dude.”

Donghyuck snickered. Mark had often wondered, will Donghyuck ever move on from teasing him? Seemed like nothing much had changed after all.

“Is it good? _Tune in for Love?_ ” Donghyuck asked.

“Uhm. I actually haven’t seen it. But I heard it received a few mixed reviews.”

“God, hyung, that’s not what you’re supposed to say if you want people to buy tickets.”

“Oh my god. Yeah! I’m sorry.”

Donghyuck shook his head theatrically, then said, “There are people we especially miss. What can we do to meet them?”

“Wait what?”

“It’s a line from the trailer.”

“Oh.”

A monitor near the entrance showed a loop of muted movie trailers where Mark had seen _Tune in for Love’_ s multiple times. _I want to see your smile. I wish you would message me. Bad timing. Those days of waiting. The one you want to see again_. Those were the texts that had faded in and out of the screen. Mark had memorized them, apparently.

Couples, pairs of friends, people who were alone, came streaming out of Cinema 02. Chatters rose to a crescendo.

“Anyways, I don’t care about the reviews.”

Mark knew Donghyuck would still see Tune in for Love.

When the screening ended, there was a long queue at Mark’s counter, and the only goodbye they had was an exchange of nods. As he watched Donghyuck’s retreating back, he remembered how they tried to keep in touch on Kakaotalk after Mark’s graduation, but two months into Mark’s freshmen year in college, their conversation, awkward and filled with holding back, ended with a random meme from Donghyuck, and a hahaha from Mark.

Mark pondered for days if he should message Donghyuck. He didn’t, and Donghyuck didn’t.

And now it’s spring.

Donghyuck reappears in front of him, like a retake of that meeting. A clap of a slate. Scene one, take two. A second chance.

Medium shot. Donghyuck taking in most of the space, the backlit movie posters a bokeh in the backdrop. His bangs part in the middle. His long hair, now a lighter shade of brown, falls upon the nape of his neck and grazes against the collar of his jacket. No baseball cap.

Mark clears his throat like the first time. “It’s been awhile, Donghyuck,” he says, glancing at Donghyuck for a second when he said his name. He’s glad his voice didn’t shake.

“Hyung, watch a movie with me.”

That sounds like something someone would say to ask someone out. Donghyuck’s just teasing again though, Mark knows. “Dude. I’m working right now. Why are you asking me.”

“No, I mean, like when we were in high school.”

“Oh. Like, like—”

Like once a month in Mark’s room back in their family home, lights turned off, lights from the TV screen reflecting onto their skins, boxes of chicken wings, sometimes bowls of ramen. Slouched on the floor, Mark’s (admittedly) exaggerated reactions, Donghyuck’s requests for Mark to shut up, rewinding the movie countless of times, _Yo what did they say? Did you get that? No, you were too fucking noisy!_

“Okay,” Mark says, blushing. “Alright, alright.”

Donghyuck nods. “Good.”

A couple stops behind Donghyuck. (Mark thinks they’re a couple, the way the girl is grasping the guy’s arm and how the guy is gazing down at her as they walk, like they’re afraid to lose each other).

“I gotta go.”

“Wait, you’re not gonna watch anything?” Mark asks, and then he wonders, did Donghyuck seriously stop by just to ask him to watch a movie together?

“Nope. I have to go now. I’ll message you, hyung, bye!”

Mark’s phone pings, not long after he has given tickets to the couple. Two messages from Donghyuck, it says. It’s been awhile.

Mark taps the notification. Their chat pops up. Donghyuck shared an image.

It’s dark. The main source of light, red, comes from the large TICKET BOX at the upper center of the photo. Beneath the sign hangs four monitors for the showtime, and below are the four separate queues. A blur of motion from people passing by crowds the right side of the photo. On the left, the couple awhile ago hunches over the countertop, checking the seats. And Mark, Mark stands still, the only clear subject caught on camera. But he looks so far away.

The message below the image says: _looks like a still from a movie huh?_

Mark replies: _Yeah looks like an establishing shot haha_

A minute later, Mark fumbles for his phone when he hears a notification. But it’s just a classmate. Their director for a short film project. A message to their chat room: Shooting starts next week guys!

They meet again when the sun is sinking, smoothing the sky into peach.

Mark waves at Donghyuck from the other side of the road. Behind Donghyuck, there are no lofty structures seizing the sky, only a backdrop so green with hedge of enough height to allow the sky to burst open.

Then a gust flutters Donghyuck’s hair, like it’s beckoning Mark back to that certain summer, months prior to his graduation, at a theme park, Everland, when the sky was the same yellowish pink tint of a peach, a sinuous tree line against it, and when a random wind blew Donghyuck’s hair the same way. That time his hair was red, and the breath of summer was warm.

Two cars pass each other in opposite directions. The traffic light flickers green.

Donghyuck makes his way along the crosswalk, alone, eyes fixed on the ground. A black sling bag embraces his jacket-clad torso. His strides are long but Mark feels like every step is done in a second. One thousand and one. One thousand and two. One thousand and three. Mark stirs his gaze away, the moment Donghyuck looks up and reaches him.

They walk towards Mark’s studio apartment. They stroll past a row of modest establishments and firs lined up along the pedestrian walkway. They have had quiet walks together before, but right now Mark wants to ask Donghyuck, do you feel serene and tensed at the same time? Do you feel it too?

Donghyuck speaks first, softly. “Did you come from uni? Or work?”

“Uh, actually, we were filming a short film.”

Donghyuck halts and stares at him in exaggerated astonishment, a fist over his mouth muttering a low “Oooh.”

“Dude, you’re overreacting,” Mark grunts, resuming his walk.

Donghyuck chuckles behind him. Cars whoosh. A chime tinkles from a store. Mark feels like his face might freeze from resisting a smile.

They turn right into a one-way street framed with brownstones.

“What do you do?” Donghyuck asks. They’re walking side by side again, but still far for the back of their hands to touch. “Are you the director? Do they call you director, huh, Mr. Director?”

“Dude, like, stop.” Mark shakes his head. Then he says, “But, uhm, haha, actually, I do a lot of things. ‘Cause you know, we’re just students, we can’t really hire people you know, so we gotta fill in a lot of roles, and there’s only like, five in our group. Actually, we only hired one person, the lead actor, he attends the same uni, acting major. Anyway, as I was saying, I actually wrote the screenplay. I assist the cinematographer. I sometimes hold the reflector if it’s needed, I sometimes appear as an extra.”

“As expected. Absolutely, fully capable, Mark Lee.”

“You’re, you’re—” Mark scoffs. “You’re exaggerating again,” he croaks out. He spots his reflection on a car window, and then hurries to drop his arm. He looks awkward, he wasn’t even aware he has been rubbing the back of his neck like he’s in one of those clichéd scenes.

“Hyung, would you let me watch it?”

“Yeah,” Mark says. “Yeah, sure.”

They have slowed down. Shadows of power lines melt unto the pavement. The busy main road buzzes from afar.

“Where were you by the way?” Mark asks. “Like, awhile ago. Before we met.”

“Acting workshop.”

Mark hums.

The rest of the way, he listens to Donghyuck’s enthusiastic storytelling of ridiculous incidences he has witnessed and experienced at the workshop. Mark feels breathless, like he has been running.

“Hold on, hold on,” says Mark, when they arrive at the apartment. He rushes out of his converse, and slides his socked feet along the narrow entryway, passing the bathroom, leaving Donghyuck behind who’s still in the process of removing his shoes, a classic converse too.

Isn’t it strange, though, Mark thinks, how it’s like seeing your own home for the first time when you invite someone in. A few friends have been here, and yet he has never felt this way before, until Donghyuck.

It’s because he’s Donghyuck, he tells himself.

Mark plops his black Jansport bag, same old bag from high school, on the wall-mounted dining table, which separates the kitchen from the bed. Taking a peek at the L-shaped kitchen to his left, he mumbles a _thank god_. Everything’s in order. The sink shines spotless.

To his right, the bed, tall and all white, is made. Across the foot of the bed sits the television. Has he kept it dust free, though? And the desk, the desk fixed between the bed and the window, is littered with piles of papers and uncapped pens. He’s pretty tidy today, at least.

Mark spins around and finds Donghyuck, out of his jacket, hip against the dining table, watching him. His sling bag hanging on one of the chairs.

“Haha, sorry,” Mark utters.

Donghyuck couldn’t shut up about Mark being “shockingly clean” the whole time they’re setting up. “Wow, I didn’t have to pick things up from the floor, I didn’t have to organize stuff. You’ve changed!”

“Dude, I swear to god.” He argued that he’s still the same, just more responsible.

Now Mark is at the entryway, ready to turn the lights down.

Donghyuck raises his voice from the foot of the bed, “Choose a number from one to three!”

“Why!”

“Just fucking choose!”

“You know I’m gonna choose two!” Mark flicks the light off, but he leaves the kitchen kindled with a dim, orange bulb.

Mark pauses in the middle of the room.

There, Donghyuck is sitting on the carpeted floor, leaning against the footboard of the bed. The television screen adorns him with its winking lights. Through the white curtains, purple-ish, pinkish rays highlight Donghyuck’s profile. Mark doesn’t know where this light is coming from, he’s never been on that side of the road. But the colors. Donghyuck looks like he’s in a movie poster.

Mark takes a deep breath. His heart’s beating way too fast.

“Hyung, come on. It’s starting.”

Mark settles beside Donghyuck, leaving enough space in between their knees. He has been trying to recall what this movie is. In the opening, there’s a shot of Shakespeare & Company in Paris. Then a shot of a sign about a book signing event. A woman asks, “ _Do you consider the book to be autobiographical?_ ” Then the lead appears behind a desk packed with books.

“Whoa. Wait what? _Before Sunset_? Really? Yo!”

“What? You surprised it isn’t one of those romcoms you secretly hate?”

“Oh! So you made me choose from one to three, ‘cause it’s for the _Before_ trilogy. Like, two for the sequel. Okay, okay.”

The main character says, “ _Isn’t everything autobiographical, I mean we all see the world from our own tiny keyhole_.”

Mark steals a glance at Donghyuck, who’s resting both elbows on his knees. The purple and pink beam tints his white shirt and outlines the curve of his back. “Also, I don’t hate the romcoms you like, you know,” Mark mutters. He isn’t sure if Donghyuck heard that.

Only the sounds from the movie rebound across all the corners of his apartment. Mark should’ve been sputtering commentaries every now and then despite the number of times he has seen the movie, but right now he just wants to chuckle from the tension he’s feeling, but even chuckling itself, he can’t do.

Minutes later, Mark carefully slides down. He tips his head back until he feels the softness of the mattress. Through the slits of his eyes, he peers at Donghyuck. Donghyuck has his arms around his crossed legs, hands intertwined. In the darkness, the lights from the screen and from the window clashes unto his figure. Mark is itching to ask, are you holding back too?

Mark goes back to a comfortable position.

The whole time, nobody says a word, nobody expresses any certain intense reaction. But then Donghyuck slaps Mark’s hand, turns it over, and plays with his finger.

“ _I want to try something_.” The two main characters hug. “ _I want to see if you stay together or if you dissolve into molecules_.”

“ _How am I doing?_ ”

“ _Still here._ ”

“ _Good, I like being here._ ”

“Hyung, you were moving way too much,” says Donghyuck, then lets go of Mark’s hand.

Mark keeps his palm open for a while. Then closes it. He feels like dissolving into molecules, for real.

“So you pursued filmmaking?” Donghyuck asks as soon as the credits start rolling.

Mark nods. “Yeah.”

“And you work at the cinema.”

Mark chuckles. “I know it’s kinda useless ‘cause I’m just literally handing out tickets, like nothing to do with filmmaking but—” He inhales. “But being in the presence of movies and people eager to watch them, it’s inspiring, you know.”

“Of course you’d say something like that.”

“What do you mean,” Mark whines and almost pushes Donghyuck, but he stops himself. Why is he hesitating so much. “Uhm, so are you like, majoring in Theatre and Performance, or something like that?”

“Something like that. You better cast me in your next film.”

They catch each other’s eyes, but Mark looks away.

“Wow,” Donghyuck mutters.

“What?”

“Wow.”

Donghyuck probably thinks Mark was teasing him when he looked away. Mark plays along. “I’ll think about it.”

“Wow!”

The sky outspreads in greyish blue, the color of longing, as their cinematographer has described it. They have taken advantage of it to shoot an outdoor scene, and Mark takes note of its desolate effect.

Their lead, a guy with a purple hair, was filmed in a wide shot. He was standing motionless on the other side of the road, his distant figure was framed in a small space between a huddle of college students in the foreground, who all agreed to be filmed, only their backs. A frame within a frame. When the traffic light changed its color into green, the students scattered along the crosswalk, approaching the lead who remains on the other side.

They’re all satisfied with the shot, achieving that “far away” and “out of reach” feel the director wanted. And so they wrapped up for the day.

While the others went on their way, Mark stays next to the traffic light pole, hunched over his phone, replying to a coworker who wouldn’t be able to go to work tomorrow because of a flu that he doesn’t really have.

Mark feels a light tap on his shoulder. He spins around. “Yo, Donghyuck!”

Dipping his head to one side, Donghyuck says, “Hello."

Mark’s face heats up. Donghyuck’s wearing a leather jacket today. “What’s up?”

“Saw you guys filming.”

“Ah really? I didn’t see you, man. Where were you?”

Donghyuck points at a café behind him with a jerk of his thumb. Then asks, “Is the purple hair guy the protagonist?”

“Yeah, yeah. He is.”

“I’ve been thinking about this while watching you. Is his hair important to the story or?”

“Yeah! We really want him to stand out.” Mark watches a group of high school students cross the road. A car waits. “Actually. It’s also for symbolism, haha, I just saw that on the internet and then, yeah. Like, purple is associated to royalty, and magic too, like fantasy, you know. And I feel like they have something in common. They’re not so ordinary. I mean, royalty, these people are like, out of reach you know what I mean? And fantasy. Well, fantasy is fantasy. Man. I dunno if I made sense.”

The car dashes away.

“So…this guy is out of reach like he’s just in one’s fantasy? Or dreams?”

“Yo. Kinda. Something like that.”

“I remember dying my hair for the first time. Remember that? Summer? Your last year in high school. Bright red. Then I have to go back to black once the classes resume.”

“Looks good on you, though.”

“I know.”

Mark scoffs. The traffic light blinks red. Mark can only hope that his face is not as red.

“Okay. What’s the symbolism for red,” Donghyuck says. “Don’t tell me it’s love.”

Mark laughs because he doesn’t know what to say. The sun dives lower. It splashes a pale yellow line against the grey sky.

“By the way, hyung, you already have a movie you wanna watch?”

“Uhm. Haha. _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_.”

“Again?”

“Dude, I was mindblown. It’s a solid classic, you know. With a great message.”

“You really really like it so much back then. God.”

“Even until now. Like, I still feel the same.”

The traffic light flashes green. Donghyuck turns his head to the crosswalk. “Gotta go,” he says. “Acting workshop.”

Mark lets his gaze linger on Donghyuck’s retreating back as he cross the road. If Mark confesses, but gets rejected, he might lose Donghyuck again. He doesn’t want to lose Donghyuck again. That sounds like some clichéd trope.

Mark laughs to himself, then walks home.

Mark hears a piano tune buoyed up by the mellow whoosh of waves. Then the push of the waves grew weight, and it submerges the tune, until the tune emerges again. It goes on and on even when Mark picks up unintelligible murmurs from human voices. He figures they’re talking about staying and being scared. Something creaks and squeaks, something wooden, and now Mark feels like a wooden house is flooded, and it is human steps that have caused such sounds.

  
The waves continue to pull and push. The screeching of wood loudens.

Mark snaps his eyes open.

Surrounded by darkness, Mark takes a moment to adjust to the direct attack of light from the TV. On the screen, he sees the back of a man in a black trench coat, in the dark, dragging his feet against the ankle-deep water.

Hold up, he thinks. _Eternal Sunshine_.

He becomes aware of everything in just a heartbeat: the sharp pain on his lower back, the numbness on his bottom, the slight ache on his neck, then the warmth on his left cheek. When the realization hits him, though, the warmth soon spreads throughout his body, and then he freezes. He’s been napping on Donghyuck’s shoulder.

What scene it was when he fell asleep? Hard to recall when his mind is in panic. He’s amazed he didn’t just get up and blurt something embarrassing. He feels like he’s back to those times he’d rest his head on Donghyuck’s shoulder, lips too close to Donghyuck’s neck, and Donghyuck would giggle, and say, “Hyung, your breath! It fucking tickles!”

Mark lifts only his eyes, and follows the flicker of the light from the screen bounce on Donghyuck’s skin. Donghyuck’s lips are parted; it’s the thing he does when he’s absorbed at something. Right now he’s concentrated on the subtitles. This feels like a close-up shot. For the audience to see the details. What’s beyond the surface. To make it feel personal. For emotional connection. Can Donghyuck see him as more than a friend? He wonders how Donghyuck thinks of him.

A moment later, Mark feels the weight of Donghyuck’s head on his.

Mark thinks about the thick darkness of the cinema, how it enclasps you, and how it pushes you closer to the projected film.

The screen has dimmed with only the credits rolling. It’s darker in his apartment than before. The kitchen is unlit. Only the pink and purple light through the window on their left lingers, illuminating them still. Mark’s full attention on Donghyuck at the corner of his eye, who’s swigging the last of his beer.

Exhaling, Mark catches a sniff of alcohol. He gulps and he tastes a sweet and salty flavor, sticky. It was Donghyuck’s idea.

“By the way, our film is being edited now,” Mark said on the way to his apartment. Everything along the street was soaked in faint golden hue. “We wrapped up two days ago.”

“Well, let’s celebrate!”

They stopped by a convenience store and bought a six-pack beer, although they restricted themselves to drinking only one can each, the other four cans cooling in the refrigerator. Mark saw Donghyuck slip a toothbrush at the checkout counter. They ordered two boxes of fried chicken for delivery. For tonight, Donghyuck’s choice was _Architecture 101_.

“Really? You’ve seen it for like, a thousand times, man. You're like, obsessed with it back then,” Mark said.

“Even until now. Like, I still feel the same.”

It has taken Mark quite some time to figure out why that line sounds familiar. “Are you—” Mark lightly pushed Donghyuck with his forearm, when he realized he was being imitated.

Nobody spoke the whole time they’re watching the movie. Mark’s putting the blame on the fried chicken and beer in their mouths. But deep inside, he’s screaming and skedaddling. He hasn’t playfully pushed Donghyuck since forever. It’s his first time initiating contact since ages ago. He’s making a big deal out of this, he knows.

Now, the credits have ended, screen only a black space.

“Hyung,” Donghyuck says, almost like a whisper, like they’re in a cinema careful not to be hushed and be humiliated. “What happened?”

“What do you mean what happened, you’ve literally seen it for like—”

“No. Not the movie. Hyung, you see—” Donghyuck sighs and slides down a bit. “Well, yeah, nothing really happened, we just literally drifted apart. That happens.” Donghyuck sits upright and tips his head back, like he’ll find answers from the ceiling. “Did it start at Everland? I remember you wanted to keep to yourself by the end of the day. After that you seem like you’ve become distant and distracted. That was your last semester in high school, right? We stopped watching movies together by then. We rarely hang out. But, okay, yeah, of course, you were graduating and all. You were busy.”

“I’m sorry.” Mark was indeed busy. But he could have tried harder. It didn’t help that he started feeling shy and self-conscious around Donghyuck during his last months in high school. He was awkward and _mad_ worried that his mouth would betray him and blurt out stupid stuff. Because he was stupid. People in love are real stupid.

“What are you even saying sorry for.” Donghyuck bumps his arm against Mark’s. “I shouldn’t have hesitated. To keep in touch after you graduated. I don’t wanna be too annoying. So.”

  
So Donghyuck hesitated too.

“Dude…”

“I know my amazing presence can be too much. I don’t wanna burden you.”

“Oh my god. This. This. _This_ is annoying.” Mark’s chest vibrates with laughter.

“Anyway,” Donghyuck says. “What happened to you that day, by the way? At Everland. I was thinking you were just sick ‘cause of the rides, but to be honest I feel like something was off. I know something was off.” Donghyuck dips his head to the side, to the direction of the window, and Mark watches him in his peripheral vision. “Tell me, tell me.” He nudges Mark’s knee with his own.

Mark was really sick because of the rides. Dizzy and in danger of puking everywhere. But he was dizzy, too, with the realization that he has fallen real hard. It was scary.

“I was scared. Like, for real,” Mark says. He doesn’t know why he’s saying this.

“What, at the rollercoaster?”

A beat, then Mark chuckles. “Yeah, the rollercoaster.” He’s not entirely lying.

“God, hyung.”

“Listen. You know, you know when you’re going higher and higher and the more you get higher you’re expecting you’re gonna fall, but then like, next thing you know you’re already falling and you’re still like, I did not fucking expect that! And when you fall, you’re not in control, you know. Like. You didn’t realize you’re clutching your chest and you’re eyes are shut. Dude. That’s scary, man, not being in control. But what’s scarier is not knowing what’s gonna happen next. Like, how long is the fall. How deep is the next curve.”

“Feelings can creep up just like that. I thought I was in control.”

Mark almost stammered and stumbled with whatever words his tongue can form. He almost laughed out of panic. Thank god he has caught on to what Donghyuck was suddenly saying. He still chuckled, though, awkwardly. “Yo,” he says. “ _In the Mood for Love_. Aye.” He chuckles again. Of course, it’s a line from a movie. “We can like, you know, watch it next time.”

Donghyuck hums and nods. With the toe of his socked foot, he kicks his can of beer, and it rolls away. “The falling part is the best part, though,” he says. “The feeling makes you wanna protect yourself, but then it also feels thrilling, exciting, and you just wanna put your hands up in the air and scream and surrender to it.”

Donghyuck screams, more like a whisper scream. Mark does the same and they whisper scream together and then they laugh.

“But hyung,” says Donghyuck, facing Mark. “I didn’t force you to ride the rollercoaster with me that day anyway.”

“Yeah, you didn’t.”

“Can I stay?”

“Dude, I knew you’re gonna ask that. I literally saw the toothbrush you bought.”

“Hehe.”

Mark hears the tap water from the bathroom. Donghyuck is washing himself and changing his clothes. The light in the middle of the apartment is switched on right now, and Mark watches it flicker from his reclined position on the bed. He calls work, and claims to be too sick to come tomorrow morning.

“Oh my god…” he whispers to himself when the call ended. That was his first time. He has stuttered and mispronounced words and even faked a cough. “What’s wrong with me?” He knows Donghyuck can sleep till the afternoon. He doesn’t want to leave him.

Mark has already slipped under the comforter, when Donghyuck came out of the bathroom, wearing Mark’s red t-shirt and black jersey shorts. He turns the light off and mumbles about being sleepy on his way to the bed. He crawls and plops on the side near the window.

They both lie on their backs, staring at the darkness of the ceiling. Mark’s heart thumps.

“Hyung, show me your film, okay?”

“Just thinking about letting you watch it…oh my god. Why do I feel nervous right now?” Mark laughs.

“It’s okay, Mark hyung,” Donghyuck says, in his teasing tone. “It’s normal to feel nervous when you have to reveal something.”

“What do you mean reveal something.”

“Creating art is like revealing something about yourself, isn’t it?”

  
Their conversation ends.

Donghyuck eventually faces the window, back on Mark, and mutters, “Good night.”

The same purple pink light rushes in and blankets Donghyuck, melting the figure of the window unto the white comforter and its wrinkles. Why does a few inches seem so far away? What if Mark reenacts those overly used confession scenes in movies, where you pour your heart out thinking the other one is asleep, when in fact, they are wide awake, listening to everything?

Nah, he tells himself and falls asleep.

The subconscious writes the real story itself. The real story lies beyond the surface of the narrative. During his Film Production class, when asked, “What’s your short film about?” Mark did not think of telling the summary, instead, he answered, “What’s it really about is that, this guy, purple hair guy, eye-catching and extraordinary, stands out from the ordinary crowd. Although you see him right there, it still seems like he’s too far away from your fingertips.”

Their director continued with what she has contributed to the revision of the screenplay, “But the point is, maybe you should pass through that wall constructed by thoughts of him being too out of reach and too far away. Stretch your hands even more, exert an effort to approach him yourself.”

They’ve conveyed this through these techniques: the lead, albeit the focus, was mostly in the backdrop; faceless, desaturated figures, usually people, were in the foreground, sometimes as a frame within a frame; all the possible shots were used, except for close-up, medium shot is the closest you’d get. All these were done to achieve the “far away” and “out of reach” feel.

Mark explains this to Donghyuck as the credits roll, his nerves finally at ease. They are perched on the carpeted floor, as they always do, but this time, their knees are touching.

The apartment is almost in complete darkness now. The TV screen is pitch black. No orange glow from the kitchen. No purple-pink light; it has flickered off somewhere on that side of the road. Only the mild light of lampposts and the full moon is gleaming through the window.

Donghyuck nods and nods, then says, “I don’t understand shit.”

  
Mark laughs, and Donghyuck continues, “Fuck art films. Is this an art film? Whatever!”

“Dude.”

“I get it. I get it! I was just kidding. To be honest I felt the lack of close-up shots. Made me want to move closer.”

A period of silence reels around them. Their breathing seems to be in sync.

Mark turns only his head to Donghyuck. In the midst of carefully brushing his hair with his fingers, Donghyuck faces Mark. As soon as Mark has taken in this view, it’s like the darkness of the apartment explodes into an open sky of peach. Vibrant tree lines. Curves of the roller coaster. Like they are back to that summer at Everland. Donghyuck brushing his red hair after being blown by the wind. Donghyuck beckoning Mark to come, yelling, “Don’t be scared! Come on, hurry up!” The day Mark felt so lightheaded before even trying any rides. The day it dawned on him that he has fallen in love with Donghyuck.

A blink and then everything fades back to the present moment, back to his apartment. Donghyuck is staring at him. His head still turned towards Mark. The darkness engulfs them, like pushing them closer. The light, misty through the window, limns Donghyuck from behind, and shines directly on Mark’s face. Donghyuck can probably read him right now.

Mark’s pulse continue to ring in his ears. He can’t avoid Donghyuck’s eyes like he usually do, he doesn’t want to. He swears he sees Donghyuck look down at his lips for a sec. How long have they been staring at each other? His head is whirling.

Then Mark lifts his weight from the footboard of the bed, twists his torso around, and flattens his palm on the space between their hips, as if asking, is this how you feel as well? Like an answer to the question, Donghyuck lays his hand on top of Mark’s and leans forward.

Mark’s heart soars higher and higher. This time, he makes a move first. He dips his head to his right with a slight lift of his jaw. He parts his lips. But he pauses and looks at Donghyuck, who gives him a slight nod. Then the gravity of Donghyuck’s lips pull him in.

The kiss is slow and cautious, but eager. Mark’s fingers through the golden strands of Donghyuck’s hair. Donghyuck’s grip on his forearm. A tingling sensation. An experience in which any kind of cinematic techniques can never fully convey.

They part and they stare as they catch their breath. It has taken them a few seconds before they hurriedly turn their heads away from each other, blushing.

By now, Mark should have lost his control on his mouth from blurting out _damn_ and _oh my god_! but it’s like Donghyuck’s lips is still on his. He can still feel the warmth of the kiss.

“So…” Donghyuck says.

Mark giggles, because he doesn’t know what to say and because he feels elated.

Donghyuck releases a short laugh, then he says, “Hyung. Did you know I’ve had feelings for you since high school? And I still feel the same. Obviously.”

“Actually. Me too. For like two years now. Still the same.”

Donghyuck grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers.

“Honestly,” Mark says. “I really felt like we can never be more than friends. Like it’s too far from reality.”

“I thought I was obvious, though.”

Mark lets go of Donghyuck’s hand and stands up to sit on Donghyuck’s other side.

“Why did you—”

“To have a better view of your face.”

Donghyuck lowers his head and shakes it deliberately, perhaps to hide his smile. “Wow.”

Mark laughs. “What?”

Donghyuck turns to him. And now the light is directly beaming at him. He gestures to Mark, and says, “Come over here.”

Mark does what he’s told. He can say that this is like an extreme close-up; more personal, more emotional connection. The light from the window is the key light. That there’s the diegetic sounds of heartbeat and breathing. But this is reality, where he can smell Donghyuck’s perfume and its spring day scent; where he can still taste the kiss; where can feel his hands and his lips.

Donghyuck pulls him even more closer. “You’re taking too long.”

Mark sees Donghyuck in this reality, and he would like to stay here.

**Author's Note:**

> curiouscat & twitter: @__madlife


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